


self titled (im hs.)

by softestlarrie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drinking, Drugs, M/M, Real world, Rehab, harry - Freeform, louis - Freeform, niall and liam are breifly mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 10:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13588569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestlarrie/pseuds/softestlarrie
Summary: [ treat people with kindness ]





	1. // before the prologue //

_before the album_   
**H A R R Y E D W A R D S T Y L E S**

 

At 23 years of age, Harry Edward Styles, is asked to survey himself on February 14, 2017, 00:19.

'a man who is nothing without his name' is scribbled across a dirtied napkin, in Harry's handwriting, the drunken man mixing into the crowd, a drink with a fancy name in his hand, but it's all the same. It's all liquor, and Harry's just a person.

But the world erupts at this napkin, tells Harry, 'you're beautiful', 'you've saved my life' 'i love you'. A man you do not know? Furthermore, Harry drinks.

Point proven.


	2. Chapter 2

_meet me in the hallway_   
**HARRY STYLES**

 

 

23:18, the subtle beat of his life form is a dwindling sound, despite the harshness in its forever rapid pace. his head lies, soft thud of his heart beating there too –because god, he can never tell the difference between mind and heart– rolling back and forth, against this wall, cleaned and washed each day, to stand here on weak knees, as thoughts of certain foreseeings flood his mind, as if effervescence in the ocean he drowns.

23:41, harry styles has never particularly been good at the waiting game, the putrid tic toc sending him into precise insanity (i became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity, edgar allan poe) though certain morbid injections of immoral doings flow through his bloodstream, and he cannot exactly think in this moment, instead he stands, back against wall, knees shaking.

00:24, his legs, however the strong muscles that capture the eyes of the lusting passerby, even he can't take standing so long on drunken legs. so somewhere in the a.m. harry's arse is flush against the carpeted, hallway floor, and his eyes are fluttering like that of a dying faerie's wings, his breathing faltering to a slow pace, and drool gathers at his his mouth, and dribbles like raindrops falling from a leaf onto another, onto his shirt.

01:54, harry can feel him, feel his sunshine protruding through harry's atmosphere, planet once again gaining light. so, in order for this planet to look the best, harry stands once more, pale chest on display for a slight tan, hair stringing messily into a mess of ringlets, lips bitten. it's seduction, he tries for, to cover the relentless thud.

harry walks the red of his tongue tiredly over his flushed lips, bruised from the constant worrying of an anxious soul. it quivers and wobbles, an indication of each deep breath and the need to allow oceans to take over, allow these oceans to spill over the brim of his eyes. no more cages nor walls to hold back the flow.

not when he's sees louis, with these ineffable blues, these ocean desires, so tangled in the red tentacles of octopuses, these wretched creatures, so inhospitable. it's these rings of red that surround the blue, that makes people so afraid of what the ocean has to offer.

but, it draws harry in. pulls him in, makes him fall into desperate routines of constantly drowning, never even grasping the thought of needing air. it's like, the ocean keeps wanting him to be a mermaid, to make home in this gigantic thing, and harry's quite alright with that.

it's just these octopuses, these red rings surrounding the pure blue has harry coiled into a small ball of sheer hurt, but the ocean's waves keep meeting the shore.

and then louis' stood right in front of him, deep breathing and all, tears still washing all signs of home away, because maybe the ocean has never been all that welcoming anyway.

but, harry tries. grabs the man, pulls him by his shirt into his bruising kisses. it's like, suddenly they're both drowning, thrown into riptides they're so used to. but it just doesn't feel right, in fact, everything is so disgustingly wrong.

harry ignores these facts though, as he licks into louis mouth, until he's kissed a bruised red. and suddenly they're tumbling, like the purest destruction, as harry tugs the ocean into his arms, but he can only feel the water between his fingers, can never fully grasp all that is the ruthless sea.

the trembling men dance at a dizzying pace, and harry's legs are all too weak for this, knees wobbling, and louis' pulling away. it's just, it's an absurd amount for a drunken man to take in, but he can feel each pinprick of absolute pain, and he feels like wailing as louis murmurs, "harry, stop."

the long haired man only stares, as his lover pulls away, cheeks tinted a desperate red, because when had it come to this, when had he fallen into such a state of absolute wretchedness, in which he cannot control himself, cannot control the substances in which he indulges, or the people he wants? when had he become so wickedly repulsive that not even the men he brought home were dumb enough to want him, not even louis, who he loved most, who'd cared for harry with everything he had inside his heart, wanted him?

he only walks towards the couch, taking all harry has with him, sits in the pale blue of harry's hotel room.

he thinks, that what if –despite the constant reminder of what if's never helping anybody, what if he hadn't fucked this entire thing up? hadn't ruined the only thing he actually cared for, hadn't drowned himself, when he knew how lovely the ocean could be to him.

self-de·struc·tion ( ˌselfdəˈstrəkSH(ə)n/ ), noun  
behavior that causes serious harm to oneself.

the air seems tighter, like it's harder to breathe, and all harry wants is to be in louis' arms, to have the man kiss him, promise to him that no matter what harry does, could possibly imagine doing, louis will always love him, and not in the pity sense he does now. in the sense that louis just couldn't get enough of him, couldn't bear the thought of anyone being around harry in the ways that only louis could.

a love, so pure, that only their younger, untainted, childlike selves could achieve, not even finding the need of comprehension for the things they felt. and god, so unaware of how harshly these beautiful things could affect them, rock their worlds to defeat, bring them to their knees in absolute submission.

he finds himself falling in closer to louis, breathing in all louis has to offer, without actually getting a taste, or even a short feel. he only crumbles beside the man, pulling his shirt over his shoulder, soft chest on display.

there's an echo of, how did we end up here? ringing the entirety of harry's too large hotel room. harry wants to yell, he wants to scream that he doesn't want this, that he just can't handle this, because louis' all he's ever needed and everything he doesn't have. but, the man sits silently, and christ, who knew how violent silence could be?

it crushes you completely, gnaws and pulls at your body until you're too many shades of red, and you can't handle anything thrown your way. until you're so entirely pathetic, that not even you want to look yourself in the mirror.

until you're harry styles.

seduction fails, so harry settles for weakness, as he crumbles, crying rivers and he just wishes their water would mix, wants louis' salty taste, wants to kiss himself into louis until they're nothing but each other.

this is why the man cries so harshly, the love of his life cuddling him in pity, brushing his curls and harry's just the drunken truth, "dunno why i fucked everything up, lou, i just want you so fucking bad. want you to touch me, want you to love me. but you can't. and that hurts so bad." he murmurs more, lips bruised, wants louis louis louis.

it's all in swirls, all these words are just flooding louis' mind, doesn't know how to respond. ask, "then why would you do this to us?" yell, "for fucks sake, harry! i've tried to make this better, it's always you! you fuck everything up." tell him, "i still want you, so bad it hurts." but, "i just can't do that to myself. not again. one of us has to be strong and i understand that that can't be you right now."

as he looks into harry's red rimmed eyes, he can't understand what happened. can't make it out, because how could his sparkling, angel speck eyed boy turn into such a wreck? so doped up on drugs he can't tell reality from paranoia, can't tell himself from who he's become.

but here louis is, still here. keeps cradling harry like he'll come back, like he doesn't care for his own well being, because he wants so badly to just help ( because harry may be addicted to narcotics, but louis is very much addicted to harry styles ) and it's so hard to see everything you love ruin himself, unguarded and head first. and it's harder when they don't know they're hurting you. but it's hardest when they do, and they just don't care.

"lou," he cries, "i wish i could go back, i want to go bad, to when we were kids. remember that? so fucking innocent. want that again so bad."

louis just absorbs every word until he's crying himself, and they're soothing each other, ripping each other apart in this extravagant, blue room, and they can barely see anything, but they can feel each other's presence. so in tune with each other that they could be on opposite sides of the room and still find each other.

"gonna get you in bed, okay?" and harry only nods because he knows louis will take care of him, it's all he's ever done, would never hurt a single cell on harry's precious body, no matter how many times harry continues to hurt himself.

it's mostly distorted images for harry, a lot of louis, dragging him into bathrooms as he leans over the toilet, vomiting each empty, broken promise and kissing him even when his mouth is covered in puke because louis just loves him so much, can remember louis telling him he loves him so many times even his high heart hurt.

so why can't he tell him at four in the morning, right before he's gone? why does harry wake up as soon as louis' left, flashes of his love wrecking him because he deems it too good to be true. but fuck, why does louis' taste still linger in his mouth? he's always hated unanswered questions.

so the man walks about the entirety of the room, chasing louis' smell, chasing the beauty in the flashes of louis kissing him here and here, runs his fingers over absent memories, over the love he wants, but so clearly doesn't deserve.

it is a 05:38 that harry falls victim against the door once more, eyes stained, cheeks blotched. and he's begging for more, wants to drown in louis, wants to hold louis, to touch louis, wants to be able to kiss his thin lips, feel his arms around his waist, wants to grow old with louis, wants to be able to love louis, wants to die with louis.

or maybe, he just really wants to die.

 

_**—pathetic** _


	3. // chaptered ones //

_sign of the times_   
**HARRY STYLES**

 

 

there's subtle — only to the blueing woman presented in the scene — beeping ringing throughout this room mrs. anne styles accompanies. there's precipitation on her face, tumbling down her neck, to her arms, to her hands squeezed between the father's, upon her lips, & the sweat falls into her open mouth, the harsh screams she lets loose creating an opening for it.

 

"desmond!" she cries and the man's eyes are wide with pain, but it is acute in comparison to the mother's so he deals, he does. "it hurts!" her tears are these teensy flakes of snow littering her eyelashes, and her cheeks are this peach tinted colour and her eyes are bright in colourful love for the human she's bringing about and oh.

 

it is 00:06 when anne's son is born and, "harry," she's smiling, "that's my son's name, harry edward styles my beautiful boy."

 

anne imagines it's something like that's a beautiful name ma'am, for such a beautiful boy. it's what she hears, it is a thing she believes is set in concrete. & this nurse who has guided her through it the entire time as if it is her first time giving birth — which nice thank you, hands anne a healthy baby boy.

 

the sun bursts free in a woman who touches her baby, her healthy baby, it explodes and burns away all these negative thoughts built up on occasion, like our house isn't big enough and we can barely hold our own now, these things are cleansed by the ocean in his eyes and snow on his skin and the cherries in his cheeks.

 

its some glimmering awakening in which she knows it and she feels it clawing in her veins, she understands it all now, understands that she and her son and family's going to be okay, whether the ground opens up and it swallows them whole because while she doesn't want that for her son, they will be together and that is all a mother can ask.

 

"my sweet baby boy," her finger is some gentle wave running toward the shore, containing newborns and old ones, turtles and crabs just trying to get back to the others, soft & elegant touching her baby's puffed and reddened cheek.

 

and her boy smiles at the sound of her voice, the long months of listening equating to this knowing of this is my mum, she's here to protect me. she'll always protect me, it's a job i know she's worthy of. all comes forth in a burst of a smile.

 

although it seems this otherworldly smile creates only havoc for the no longer smiling nurse who's eyes are a wide plain of brown worry. and anne knows, she does, that there's an opening in the ground only shaped for her, but. she can't help but smile, because her boy is a healthy one and he's going to grow into greatness and she loves him with her entirety.

 

"harry, i know you're awful young and that the world is a new place with new sounds and the pain and the horridness of the world, their ignorance and their sad lives are engulfing your senses but i ask you one thing right now. listen to my voice."

 

the woman kisses his forehead, "remember my voice, remember me son, when the world is harsh and it's a place that only seems filled with death and evil and is some place that only gives you trouble, i want you my little harry, to remember me telling you it's okay. that it's okay to feel pain and to hurt along with the world but.

 

"i also want you to remember the sun on the morning you leave the hospital & your mother & father's young smile at the prom they'd been set up at, remember i'd talk to you through my stomach, remember gemma & her sweet voice singing you lullabies for you when you restlessly kicked at my tummy for hours on end and a soft smile each passerby gave and the love that filled your father's heart when he first heard the good news of you, the approaching harry edward styles.

 

"i want you to know i'll always be in your growing and beating heart, because a mother lives on in her beaut. children, she does. so please, son, carry your mother along in your bright eyes and your soft talk and your life experiences and your own kids and marriage and home.

 

"remember how it felt to hear my voice when all you were was a tiny little growing human in my stomach, and how you changed into something beautiful and you heard my voice for the first time outside of the home you made inside me."

 

she smiles at her boy and she smiles at nurses who're rushing about trying to save an already dead woman„ in the physical sense, at least and she smiles to her crying husband softly.

 

"be kind to him."

 

and he takes her newborn away from her and the man hugs his son close to his chest, "i will, anne. i promise it." and then the light is gone in her eyes, but she dies with a smile grazing her blued lips.

 

it's the first time harry cries.

 

his small body shakes with the death of his beautiful mother as she lifts above her body and finds her way to heaven in religion and to nothingness in some idea and to a separate universe in science and poor harry.

 

it's the first time he feels pain. it takes his entire body hostage and it burns his soul and he cries into his dad and wets his shoulder. he vaguely feels a shake as little gemma crashes into her father screaming and the nurse is watching with wet eyes as she chokes into the stoic doctor.

 

it is one of harry's most vivid memories // dreams and  
harry does remember. he wakes up in the early am as gemma screams for mother, and his father becomes a shell of the man he once was, and the earth shakes in pain for another lost one.

 

and.

 

he chokes on water in the darkness and he cries loud sadness because he killed his mother and he's awake all night, and then he goes and plays for a crowd who worships a murderer.

 

and he's sick.


End file.
